Vulture
by Aloemilk
Summary: Jealousy fic within a healthy, established relationship between Ron and Hermione, and with a happy resolution. Part of the "Kisses Drabbles" collection.


AN: As requested by awesome  jenahid on Tumblr, with the prompt:

 _Do you remember that one afternoon in crazy excess  
I saw you jealous imagining offenses,  
I held you in my arms… a kiss vibrated,  
and what did you see after…? Blood on my lips.  
I taught you to kiss: the cold kisses  
of impassible heart of rock,  
I taught you to kiss with my kisses  
invented by me, for your lips._

I couldn't do this prompt justice with a drabble, so you get a 1700+ word fic instead :) Still connected to what I called "Kisses Drabbles" on Tumblr. The other drabbles in this collection can be found in chapters 7 to 10 of Kaleidoscope here in FFN.

* * *

Hermione liked to think she wasn't the jealous type, but it was times like these that reminded her she wasn't above such base feelings. More than that, times like this reminded her that love and insecurity couldn't be swayed away by logic alone.

Damn the Auror Department. Damn the officers that thought an inter-departmental luncheon would further unify the ministry. Damn that beautiful brunette that looked at Ron with scarlet-laden eyes and, above all, damn the ginger man she loved that wasn't doing enough to keep her at bay.

The first time Hermione had seen those greedy eyes set on Ron she hadn't thought much about it. Ron had grown up to be a handsome man and, objectively, she could understand any woman who stared at him a tad too long. But soon she had realised that the woman was often around them, circling them like a vulture. Ron appeared blissfully unaware. Hermione, on the other hand…

Hermione had gotten more and more hyperalert, keeping tabs on her and her advances. At one point, she had casually waved at them, and the way he raised his eyebrows in recognition, smiled, and waved back told her they knew each other. All in all, she had managed to find Ron by himself three times in as many hours. When Ron had offered to go get drinks for them, Hermione knew there would be a fourth time.

One red and one brown head made their way to where Hermione stood, laughter booming between them. Hermione turned in their direction, observing them getting closer. She could feel her blood simmering in her veins.

Her eyes found Hermione first, her smile faltering with shame. Hermione and her glass face had evidently broadcast her derision at that little spectacle, readily available for _her_ to take notice. She recognized Hermione's glare and straightened up in challenge, slight contempt now in her features. _Can you blame me?_ Her demeanor appeared to ask. And yet she laid a hand on his arm, said something softly to him, and left to disappear among the people partying under the enchanted tent.

Ron's eyes found Hermione then. The change in his features was different from hers: his smile widened first then faltered; his eyebrows furrowed next. He crossed the distance between them, balancing the two glasses he had originally set out for.

"What happened? Are you alright?" He asked.

She reached for one of the glasses he was holding with more force than intended, the liquid sloshing out of its rim.

"I don't know," she said, her voice shrill despite her best effort. She moved the glass to her free hand, harshly shaking the now-wet hand in an effort to get it dry. "Why don't you tell me?"

"Huh?" the confusion on his face was soothing to her, but not enough to fully erase her displeasure.

Hermione scoffed, mostly at herself but also at him and his blindness. "Hmmph. I suppose I shouldn't— that is, obviously it must be nice— never mind," she finished, flustered but scathing, her lips pursing into a thin line.

"What are you on about?" He demanded, signs of heat beginning to flare.

Damn his temper. Damn her challenging heart and the way it made her chin lift in defiance. Damn the pull she felt to kiss him and make a spectacle of it, to mark her territory against _her_ and all others, like a bloody, possessive Neanderthal.

"What is her name?" she commanded through stiff lips. "If we are going to have this conversation now, I would at least like to know what to call her," she added with a vague hand gesture to the path they had come from.

Ron turned in the direction she indicated, connecting the dots. He turned quickly back to her and rolled his eyes; he sighed in resignation. His free hand shot forward and wrapped around her elbow, pulling her away from the festive group. She willingly went with him, happy to have the opportunity to let out some of the steam she had been holding for hours.

He lead her out of the tent and around a bend, finding a secluded spot behind a decorative garden tapestry. There were big pots with bushes shaped into magical animals lining the edge of the tent wall, and they settled between two of these. Ron took his wand and executed a simple spell: _furtimus_. They wouldn't be seen or heard, as long as they stayed in this place.

"Well?" She said.

"Amy? Are you serious?"

Her brain, past the point of any rational thought, only offered disgust that she would of course have such a normal, friendly name.

" _Amy_ has been following you around all afternoon. She's practically stalking you!" she hissed.

"You're barmy!"

"Oh, am I, now? She has approached you a few times already when you were by yourself, hasn't she? That is not simple chance, I'll have you know."

"You've drunk too much. You have heatstroke."

"How insulting!"

"Insulting is that you think that because someone is being friendly they want in my pants!"

"Friendly she is not!" Hermione spat. "She likes you and not platonically!"

"She doesn't!"

"Yes, she does! She glowered at me before escaping and hiding among other people!"

"You're imagining things. She doesn't—"

Hermione practically growled in frustration and shame. She was being irrational and could do nothing to stop herself. Perhaps she had drunk a bit too much, but that would never justify her behaviour. Ron had done nothing to reciprocate Amy's attempts, after all. And yet…

"She does, Ron. She does."

That not only silenced Ron, but shocked him into a confused grimace. His face slowly shifted from that to understanding as he considered her words. Hermione left her drink on the edge of one of the pots, vanished it, and crossed her arms with a huff. It was clear he had connected the same dots she had, and now agreed with her.

She looked down at the ground, shuffling her foot in discomfort. Now that she had convinced him to see things her way she wished she hadn't; wished he would have convinced her that she was indeed imagining things, and that there was nothing she should worry about. Even if it was impossible, because she knew she was right. It didn't change the fact she wished she was wrong.

"You don't have to worry, love," he said, breaking her thoughts, his voice soft and conciliatory, his words an echo of those in her mind. "Even if true, what's that to you? First, I didn't even notice and, second… hey," he interrupted. He stepped closer to her, holding her from the waist and pulling her to him. She couldn't meet his eyes, so she stared at the point where his clavicles met. He kissed her forehead before continuing. "Second, I love _you_. I'm not looking around. You don't doubt that, do you?"

She finally lifted her eyes to him as he surrounded her with his arms. "I don't," she whispered, and leaned forward for a kiss… but he retreated. Her eyes shot for his, squinting her eyes in question.

"That didn't sound all that convincing," he said, leaning forward until his lips were a breath away from hers. "Do you know that I love you?"

"Yes!" she insisted, locking her fingers around the back of his head and pulling him for a swift kiss. "Yes," she repeated and kissed him again with force. She pushed against his lips, as if claiming them for herself forever… but it wasn't enough; she needed roughness, so she bit his bottom lip lightly.

"Ow!" he exclaimed. Okay, maybe not as lightly as she thought. She sniggered at his complaint— and all of her own this afternoon, finally able to laugh at herself and her silly reactions.

Ron put two fingers up to his mouth, checking for the tender spot. When he took them away to inspect them, Hermione noticed the stain of blood left behind.

"Oh no! I'm so sorry!" She exclaimed, surprised at how hard she had actually bit him. "I didn't realize— I just—"

She interrupted herself, concentrating on reaching for her wand to heal the minor cut and bruise. Before she could perform the spell, she distracted herself by trying to justify her transgression. "I know I was being irrational. I'm so sorry! You are not to blame for Amy's behavior. I know that. I got territorial and I'm so ashamed! I really—"

"You got territorial, huh?" Ron interrupted with a smirk. "Hermione, listen. It's flattering to have someone interested in me, but I don't really want to deal with that attention, either. It's been years since I was enough of a git to fall for that and, you know, I _have_ grown. And we're together now. If someone believes I'm not committed to our relationship after all these years, then it's their problem. Especially because, as you saw tonight, I don't even notice."

She gave him a small, thankful smile.

"My kisses are all for you," he continued. "The old ones and the new ones and all the rest of me, too. It's been like that for ages, and it'll stay like that…" he began, but she knew it wasn't only a declaration of how he felt for her—there was more. It was confirmed as he said, "even if you bite me for it."

She shook her head in disapproval even as she chuckled. As if reminded of what she had done, she tried to heal the small wound on his lip, but he stopped her.

"No, don't heal that."

"But everyone will know I did that! You'll get teased!"

"I'm fine with that because, well… everyone will know you did it." Then he winked at her, a show of rare cockiness she had learned to find endearing.

More than okay with her being territorial, it seemed he was happy for it. Like he was okay with showing the world who owned his mouth… and his heart.

He lifted a hand to invite her out of their hiding place, with a smile that split his lip open again—obviously painful. But the conspiratorial glint in his eyes told her it had been planned. He simply licked the wound to clean it, leaving it otherwise visible.

She took his hand with a big grin of her own. He had convinced her there was nothing to worry about, after all.


End file.
